Becoming Fickle: Author's Cut
by Butterfly Conlon
Summary: An alternative version on Becoming Fickle. At the eve of a war of the boroughs, Butterfly James appears in Manhattan with a troubled past and a bounty on her head from the ever-oppressing Queens. There, she must fight for her life, and her heart.
1. Prologue

Note from Author: No, you are not having suffering from double vision. Becoming Fickle was my first fan fiction ever, and midway through I abandoned it because I just got so fed up with the writing and the plot and knew I could expand so much more on it. So, this is what this fic is. A whole new reworking of Becoming Fickle, same characters as before, just with more depth. Confused-so am I.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Newsies, they are all affiliated with Disney and all that good stuff. I only own Butterfly James, Rylie and Horance Lyner, and any other supporting character. Please read, review and enjoy.  
  
BECOMING FICKLE: AUTHOR'S CUT  
  
PROLOGUE Summer--1897  
  
"Hey Spritzy!"  
  
"Hey, what?"  
  
"Why didn't da skel'tin cross da road?"  
  
"I don't know, Skiddy, why didn't 'e?"  
  
"Cause, 'e didn't have no guts, Spritzy! Git it? 'e didn't have no guts!"  
  
"D'ya know dat you'se a jackass, Skiddy?"  
  
"Comin' from you, Sarah Jean Louise Sprites, dat's a compliment."  
  
The day was excruciatingly humid in Queens that particular morning in August as Sarah Sprites and Skiddy Sniper pushed through the stifling masses of pedestrians that jay walked the streets. The tattered, filthy shirts of the two Queens newsies clung to their bodies from sheer perspiration. Skiddy removed his derby hat and began fanning it in front of his face, trying desperately to do away with the beads of sweat that trickled down his brow.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Spritzy, it shoah is a killer out tahday!" Skiddy cried, wiping his brow with his forearm.  
  
Sarah abruptly halted and turned over her shoulder, casting a glare at the overheated newsboy.  
  
"What?" Skiddy asked, his features puzzled, holding her gaze.  
  
"Ya know how I hate it when people take da Lord's name in vain, ya dumbass!" she growled, eyes blazing.  
  
Skiddy rolled his eyes as beads of sweat cascaded down his brow and down the back of his neck, saturating his shirt. "So sahrry ta offend ya, Father Sprites! P'raps I shoahd rephrase da statement. Jimminy, Spritzy, it shoah is hot out tahday!"  
  
A lopsided grin formed on Sarah's lips as she swatted Skiddy's hat from his grasp. "Ya know I love ya anyhow, Skiddy Snipah. Not ev'ryone can be poifict like me."  
  
"'Hey, use ya own hat as a fan, Spritzy!" Skiddy whined, making a half- hearted attempt to regain possession of the hat.  
  
Sarah giggled, sidestepping him and colliding with a heavyset man. The harried man glared down at her, causing Sarah to erupt into stifled laughter as Skiddy grabbed her upper arm and pulled her away as quickly as possible. "I have ta use me own hat ta keep me damn hair off my own neck!"  
  
"Den cut it off. Keep da hat. I jist wanna git to da docks and have a well- desoived swim in the rivah," Skiddy sighed, daring to glance up at the white, breathless sun before averting his pained eyes to the cracked sidewalk again.  
  
"I'se with ya, Skiddy, I'se with ya."  
  
Both newsies walked as fast as their weary overheated bodies would allow them to the docks over looking the East River. Jimmy Sprites, leader of one of the two sections of Queens newsies, had planned for all his newsies to rendezvous on the docks after a long, fatiguing day of selling newspapers.  
  
Sarah and Skiddy finally reached the docks to see that the majority of Jimmy's newsies had arrived already. Most had stripped and stood only in their undergarments around the lapping waters, their audible shouts of laughter permeating the sticky air. Sarah left Skiddy's side for a moment to look for her brother. Shielding her vision from the sun's rays with her hand, she wove throughout the newsies, paying heed to the catcalls and whistles they greeted her as with a thin smile. She found him tottering near the edge of the dock, kicking off his shoes.  
  
A smile invaded her lips and she cupped her hands around her mouth. "HEY, SPRITES!"  
  
Jimmy, his shock of blonde hair blowing in the sight wind caused from the minute waves, caught himself from plummeting into the waters and raised his head, scanning the newsies to see who had called his name. Only one person could have. His face erupted into his trademark killer grin. "HEY, BUTTAHFLY!"  
  
Sarah's smile grew. "Awful wheathah we'se havin'! Too damn cold out!"  
  
Jimmy grinned, allowing his body to convulse with imaginary shivers. "I'se ready ta toin inta a Eskimo!"  
  
He then turned and formed an immaculate dive position, but halted, catching his balance just in time, when one of his newsies cried, "What da hell do we have here?"  
  
Jimmy abruptly turned and what he viewed cast a scowl upon his face, his features darkening. His younger sister shared in this expressions she crept closer to Skiddy, her eyes narrowed into slits. "What da hell are dey doin here?" she hissed.  
  
Skiddy shook his head, his gaze never leaving the intruders. "Looking foah a good ass-kickin', I'd wagah."  
  
The intruders posed a rather comical sight: hulking, brutal in manner boys flanking a wire-thin small boy. They were the Lyner newsies. Rylie Lyner stood in the center, his small, lanky frame poised high and erect, his messy mop of dingy brown hair glinting in the sun. His brother, Horance stood to his left, his hulking, bulging figure hunched, the sun glittering on the perspiration, his teeth bared. And behind the brothers stood the rest of the Lyner newsies, all bruiting beasts that could rival Horance. The newsies of Queens had been united once, and Jimmy and Rylie peaceful allies all under the roof of the Queens Newsboys Lodging House. But then ambition had infected Rylie like a ravaging disease, and he deemed himself too intelligent just to be James Sprites foil anymore. So the split had occurred. Sprites retained the lodging house and the Lyners resided in an old abandoned warehouse in South Queens. And the split had not been on very good terms. These confrontations were nothing new.  
  
Jimmy narrowed his eyes as Horance Lyner took a step forward, looming down upon him. "Ooh, whadda we have here?" he shouted to his newsies. "I t'ink dat da gorilla 'scaped from da zoo again. Nah, moicy me, it's just Horance Lynah!"  
  
Laughter rippled throughout the newsies as Horance stood, his face burning scarlet, his fists balling at his sides. "I'se gonna kill ya!" he bellowed, pulling back his arm with the intention to knock Jimmy out, but his brother Rylie stepped in front of him, placing his hand on the latter's fist, halting him. "Not yet, Horance," Rylie said softly to his brother.  
  
Rylie then turned to Jimmy, his brown eyes glinting under his thin spectacles. "Really, James Sprites, your wit astounds me."  
  
From within the mass of newsies, Sarah felt the impossible fury start to well in her stomach again. She despised with the utmost passion the confrontations between the damned Lyners and her brother's newsies. To think that Horance had wished to court her when they were as one always caused a shudder to dance down her spine. And she hated Rylie Lyner supremely above all for he reckoned that just because he had trained himself not to speak with the native accent and because he had memorized a hawked dictionary that he was immaculate above all else.  
  
Enough was enough. She raised herself to her toes and cupped her hands around her mouth. "And ya ugliness astounds me, Rylie Lynah!"  
  
From over the newsies' shoulders, she witnessed Rylie blanche. His beady eyes surveyed the lines of newsies and his voice quaked with anger, "Who said that?"  
  
Sarah kept her eyes locked on Rylie as his face turned red when there was not a reply to his inquiry. His cheeks flamed hellfire red. "I ASKED WHO THE HELL SAID THAT!" he wheezed in fury.  
  
At that, Sarah lazily pushed her way past the newsies and to the front. She casually leaned her elbow on the most convenient boy. "I did, ya stupid sonofabitch."  
  
Rylie Lyner's gaze snapped to her, his eyes squinted in rage. And suddenly his face returned to its normal shade of white as though he was swallowing his emotions. "Well, go figure. I mean, why should I get worked up about what a stupid whore says. Your mother was illiterate and so are you--or wait--maybe it's your mother was a whore and so are you--"  
  
It then was as though Sarah was a bull and Rylie was the seductively red matador's flag, for she let out a shattering screech and sprung at him, landing on top of him as he fell to the wooden docks, the wind being vacuumed out of his lungs.  
  
Sarah elicited a series of growls and screams as she straddled Rylie, her balled fists blindly connecting with any part of his face she could touch. Blood spurted onto her face from his now broken nose.  
  
"Hor-ance!" Rylie helplessly gurgled.  
  
Horance erupted into a powerful growl and sprang over to his brother, wrapping Sarah in a headlock in his perspiration-slicked grasp. Spitting and howling in an orgasmic state of hate, Sarah struggled desperately against Horance's urgings of bringing her to her feet. Horance was bent over, one arm wrapped about her neck the other one moving to her torso as he tried to raise her off Rylie. This was a task he could have easily done, yet Sarah was relentless in her infuriation.  
  
Jimmy's low voice suddenly pierced the air. "Leave my sistah alone, ya sonofabitch!"  
  
Sarah felt Horance stumble and elicit a grunt, his grip loosening on her from Jimmy's thrust into his side. Immediately, she wriggled and dug her nails into his muscular arms until they fell lax and she escaped. She stumbled, her heavy breathing, brushing her flaxen hair out of her face.  
  
Rylie was raising himself to his feet, his hand sporadically going to his shattered, bloody heap of a nose. She screamed and dove at him, painfully slamming into the wooden boards of the docks, grasping the hem of his tan trousers. His steps grew stuttered and he finally collapsed. With a grunt, Sarah pulled herself further up his body, alas; Rylie stealthy twisted in a catlike motion his torso underneath her. She felt a foreign object puncture the flesh of her left shoulder. Searing pain like smoldering fire radiated from the spot. She released a noise and sat back, Rylie slithering on his back from underneath her. In a rapid motion, he pulled the blade from her shoulder.  
  
If agony was a true term, then agony she was in. Her hand slowly went to the wound and she touched it and erupted into a horrible scream.  
  
"SARAH!" Jimmy's cracking scream ripped through the air.  
  
Sarah felt the lightness filter through her head as she floundered about on the dock. Her breathing grew ragged. "Stabbed-I'se stabbed--" she babbled incoherently, stinging tears finding her eyes.  
  
The waves of nausea and the capricious thought of being stabbed were so much that she blacked out.  
  
Sarah's eyes fluttered open and she found her senses were sharpened tenfold. The pain ripping through her body from that damned wound was marvelous. And audible shouts and curses filled her ears.  
  
She gave an effort to raise her head, but found herself too weak and let it drop back to the splintered boards. A groan escaped her lips.  
  
The pain and bellows around growing more intense, she raised her elbows, spreading her palms at her side and picked up her head. A forceful wave of nausea rode through her, yet she forced herself to straighten her arms and open her eyes.  
  
What she saw took her by such utter surprise that he arms gave out and she came crashing to the dock again, yet she quickly scrambled to a standing position, her eyes wide. It was like a picture out of one of the old history books Jimmy had hawked from the library. Like the picture from the chapter titled Civil War.  
  
War.  
  
All newsies were embattled with each other, blades glitter-shot in the sun and blood glimmering. She let out a grand cry, placing the back of her palm to her mouth.  
  
And then her gaze fell on Jimmy. Jimmy was sickeningly on his knees, trying desperately to break free of Horance's deathlock. Rylie stood parallel to them, a malicious grin shining through his bloodied face. He mouthed something and Horance slowly brought Jimmy to his feet. And then the rest happened in slow motion.  
  
It started when she saw Rylie Lyner, standing, bloody, reach around to his back pocket for something. He slowly pulled out a sharp knife, glittering violently in the sunlight, of which he held the hilt tightly. She saw he brother began to squirm vigorously and try to get out of Horance's headlock. She heard his desperate, tear-laced pleas. She saw some of the other newsies halt the fighting to only watch in awe. And she watched as Rylie Lyner drove the blade with one quick thrust into her brother's heart.  
  
All noise was shattered by Sarah's breathtaking screams.  
  
Most heads snapped towards her, including the Lyners. A malicious grin shimmied its way up Horance's lips as he released his arms, causing Jimmy's ashen body to collapse to the dock.  
  
"Noooo! Noooo! Nooooo! OH JESUS CHRIST NO!" Sarah screamed, the tears blinding her as she savagely pushed her way past the newsies to her brother, falling over his body. The pool of blood collecting under her brother was now spreading and it turned all it touched the same violent shade of crimson.  
  
"No, no, no, no. Jimmy!" she sobbed, as her brother whispered his last words to her. Then he was gone. His breathing ceased, his body grew still and his eyelids shut forever encasing him in darkness.  
  
Sarah's screams bordered on mammalian. "NO! JIMMY! JIMMY! NO!"  
  
She then felt a strong arm slid under her stomach and hoist her up. She stood facing Rylie Lyner, his eyes shimmering with an evil, and held in a deathlock by Horance Lyner, tightly pressed against his slick torso.  
  
A sadistic smile crept over Rylie's face.  
  
Sarah could only stand looking into those awful eyes before her cries erupted. "Ya bastard! Ya goddamn bastard! How could ya do dat! You killed him! YOU KILLED HIM! You MURDERAH! You are going to hell!"  
  
A mocking smile spread over Rylie's lips. "Is that a promise, sweetheart?  
  
Sarah spit on Rylie's shoes.  
  
Rylie's face twisted in anger. "You bitch!"  
  
Horance's grip became tighter. "How would ya like ta stay wit me, toots?" he whispered in a guttural voice, his hot breath playing in her ear canal.  
  
She let out a cry of utter disgust and rapidly squirmed out of his grasp, kneeling him. Horance emitted a string of oaths.  
  
Blinded by desperate tears, Sarah whirled about and chose a direction, picking up her legs. Alas, she felt Rylie's thin arms snake around her and powerfully hold her back. He bent over, ignoring her kicks with her legs, placed his free hand on the hilt which protruded from the cadaver's chest, and pulled it out with a sickening sliding noise.  
  
He quickly straightened and pressed Sarah close to him. She cringed as she felt the sticky blood from his crushed nose settle onto her cheek and in her hair. And she stifled a scream as he roughly pushed her chin up and as she felt the sharp metal of the blade press against her neck.  
  
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you this very minute," he hissed.  
  
In response, Sarah bit down hard on his fingers.  
  
"Ah!" Rylie howled in pain, clasping his injured finger.  
  
Sarah, seeing this as her chance, raced to the end of the dock ignoring the impossible pain both physically and emotionally, and dove off it with a splash into the exceedingly warm East River.  
  
She didn't look back, yet coughed and sputtered and willed herself to propel in the water, as Rylie staggered to the end of the dock, battered and bruised, holding the very blade that killed her brother and shouted, the words ringing in her ears forever: "GOOD! SWIM AWAY, SARAH SPRITES! BUT IF YOU EVER COME BACK--EVER--I'LL KILL YOU IN A HEARTBEAT!" 


	2. I

I  
  
  
  
Summer--1899  
  
Skiddy Sniper elicited a sigh. His arms propped behind his head, he aimlessly thrust his right leg into the air, placing the sole of his foot flat against the ceiling, causing chips of plaster to wrench themselves free and fall onto him like some sort of comical snow. Though, ignoring the fallen plaster, his deep blue eyes concentrated on how unbelievably weatherworn his shoe was. The blackness had long since lost its luster, and if he wriggled his toes in just the right way, he could see the tops of them peeking out in the miscellaneous holes. A sudden, hot red anger flashed across him, and with a slight growl, he quickly lowered his foot, the revoltingly flat mattress reverberating slightly under the impact. He cast his eyes down, though not being able to see over the edge of the bed averted them back to the ceiling.  
  
I wonder how much longer it will be, he thought with a certain grim humor.  
  
He started by counting down from ten, his eyes following the cracks in the plaster ceiling, and it was almost exactly as he got to one that he heard the floorboards creak under weight and the short breathing. The footsteps stopped just below the bunk.  
  
"Skiddy, Skiddy, what are ya still doin' here? The Lyners--" The words were quick and urging.  
  
"Right on time," Skiddy murmured under his breath, listlessly sitting up, allowing his left leg to dangle lazily over the side of the bunk. His eyes fell to Grady O' Gill, a wire-thin, bookish in appearance, short in stature newsie. At this moment, he was bent over, his small chest heaving under the deep breaths he desperately inhaled for life force, his spectacles dangling on the bridge of his nose, want to fall of like they had so many times before.  
  
Grady finally straightened, and Skiddy regarded him with a somewhat air of seniority, not in an arrogant sense, yet in a sorrowful one. This newsie with the cheeks blotched with red and the mop of brown hair panting like a broken dog hadn't been with them from the start. If Skiddy remembered correctly, Grady had appeared one day about six months ago with his elder brother Barney. Yet, Barney hadn't been apt to following Rylie's barbaric canons and had been dead at the hand of the latter for about four months now.  
  
"So what's the old dictator want today? Want me to walk Horance because he forgot to walk 'em last night?" Skiddy implored lightly, yet unable to ward off an undertone of seriousness.  
  
Grady feverishly shook his head, beads of sweats flying off the ends of his hair as he did so. "No, Skiddy, no. Rylie's lookin for ya."  
  
Skiddy cocked a brow. "Oh, is that right, then? And what's his Highness want now?"  
  
Grady did not seem to be deterred by the airiness in Skiddy's statement. Instead, he cast his gaze over his shoulder quickly as though he were frightened that some unknown force was creeping up upon him, before he hoisted himself onto the edge of the lower bunk, his thin fingers hooking into the upper bunk's flat mattress. "No, Skiddy," he replied, his eyes wide and serious, a note of panic laced within his voice. "Rylie's lookin' for ya. I don't know all that happened, but it seems like you and some other guys were sayin' things 'bout him and Horance last night and Rylie caught wind of it--"  
  
Immediately, Skiddy Sniper's features changed as his eyes suddenly grew hard and hawk-like, his lips settling into a scowl. With cat-like reflexes, he grabbed onto Grady's collar with his right hand, surprising the boy so that he released a yelp and nearly lost his footing.  
  
Skiddy brought Grady's face close to his, close enough to see the fear seeping through his pores. "Grady, Rylie knows what?"  
  
Grady's voice was released from his tongue with a high pitch. "Skiddy, I don't know all the details, I'se swears on Barney's grave I don't! All I know is that I was at the distribution center and Rylie was walkin' around askin' where you were. He looked-well ya know how he gits-he had that look on his face and also had Cards, Duke, and Sparky pulled out of line. I heard him talkin' to them, sayin' that he heard some stuff they said and was wonderin' where ya was. Skiddy, he had that look on his face and I jist got scared-I got so scared Skiddy and so I ran back here to tell ya--"  
  
Skiddy's clenched grip abruptly opened, sending Grady O' Gill to his final resting place on the splintered floor with a shrill cry. He landed hard, his legs spread-eagle and his spectacles dangling from one ear.  
  
Skiddy lowered himself from the bunk in a fluid motion, his ice blue eyes staring past Grady, reflecting the surging red hate that pulsed through him. His right hand went to his back pocket. It was there, his switchblade.  
  
As he strode quickly across the groaning floorboards, he suddenly halted and turned over his shoulder, his eyes burning into Grady's. "You say he's at the distribution center?"  
  
Grady, still sprawled awkwardly on the ground, nodded his head, appearing as though he could break down and release tears to rival torrents of rain in the cruelest of storms. He was not one who fancied confrontations, especially when the glittering blades were bared and they were soon stained with glimmering red. Though, living in Rylie Lyner's Queens was not likely the most suitable quarters for him-bloody riots breaking out on the streets amongst the newsies was as common as the selling of papes.  
  
"Yeah, Skiddy, the distribution center, at least, he was there when I left."  
  
Skiddy had spun on his heel, his face hardened in determination, when Grady spoke up again, causing the former to turn once more.  
  
"Skiddy, please be careful. Please be careful," Grady pleaded with an underlying desperation.  
  
Skiddy could not but help feel a twinge of sympathy as he regarded the other newsie from across the room. No, Grady O' Gill was not too fond of the fights at all. He had never been what one could necessarily classify as 'wild,' yet Rylie Lyner sure as hell did a number on his brain when he killed Barney O' Gill right in front of his little brother's eyes. Kid was afraid of his own shadow now.  
  
Skiddy released a sigh, his features somewhat softening. "Kid, careful is a word that ain't in ya vocabulary when Rylie Lyner's around."  
  
Grady O' Gill's wide, sorrowful, innocent hazel eyes were the last site Skiddy Sniper took in before he turned once more and exited the bunkroom in a flourish, thundering down the howling stairs and out of the Queens Newsboys Lodging House. As soon as he even set one foot out the door, the disgustingly hot and breathless early June sun hit him like a speeding freight train.  
  
As he trotted down the stairs, reaching the cobblestone walk and making a sharp right, he absentmindedly rolled his sleeves past his lanky elbows, his skin already reacting by producing the first beads of perspiration. His gait impassioned and his fire blue eyes set, he made his way to the distribution center.  
  
He knew not at all how many comments were thrown at him as he continued without breaking stride. Most likely, the news had spread like a fire being fed more and more kerosene. Whether they had been at the distribution center to hear of Rylie's beckoning of Skiddy of whether they had already been selling their papes, it seemed as though the entire newsboy populous Queens knew.  
  
Those that were still loyal to the ways of Old Queens and Jimmy Sprites tried to gain his attention that Lyner had the others and was seeking him out like a hunter stalking an endangered animal. Those who laid their alliances in the Lyners mockingly shouted that perhaps once and for all the ones that had known Jimmy Sprites the best were finally getting what was due when Sprites died-a blade in their flesh. Those that were indifferent, their quiet comments had always been the most gut wrenching. They were the ones that were perhaps in the most peril, for they were loyal to both Sprites and Lyner and would choose sides when ever was most agreeable.  
  
Now as he past them, those dirty bummers that he almost considered worse than the hulking, thuggish brutes that obeyed Lyners themselves, he felt his malevolence kindle and crackle even more. Of course, when the Lyners were not around, they would carefully look over their shoulder and back to Skiddy and whisper in the lowest octave that perhaps Queens would be cleansed of Rylie and Horance once and for all. Alas, those who happened to be positioned by the Lyner newsies would eagerly join in with their ruthless remarks.  
  
Yes, those were the ones Skiddy Sniper despised the most. The ones who had always remained on the skirts; the ones who had claimed kin to both sides yet could switch loyalties at a whim.  
  
The son of a whore sun and its damn rays felt like they were boring themselves into his skin and igniting scorching blazes underneath it.  
  
Bringing an upper arm to his brow to wipe away the perspiration, Skiddy released a broken breath. As he neared closer to the distribution center, his hand once more went to his back pocket, feeling the sleek outline of the switchblade that was only two years in age. It was quite comical indeed, for he never used to carry any sort of weapon on him under Jimmy, alas, it was only when Rylie took the reins and drove Queens into the goddamn ground that he only started to carry a blade. You'd be quite foolish and possibly quite dead if you did not.  
  
He brought his hand once more laxly to his side, yet, on a second notion, palmed the blade, allowing him to easily flick it open when the time came.  
  
And then he was standing in front of the distribution center. A wave of overpowering sickness washed over him, and he had to keep from physically doubling over. His breathing became labored and his trachea soon felt as barren and dry as the most arid desert.  
  
They were all intermingled, the Sprites and Lyner newsies, a fantastically eerie silence and stillness seemingly to have drifting across the mass. The Sprites' littered the outer-banks, their mortal terror deceptively concealed by expressions of immaculate hatred. The grotesque, lumbering Lyners', their innumerable ripples of muscle glistening with sweat, stood before them, hindering them from the center circle.  
  
Skiddy's breath bated painfully in his throat as he beheld the select inner gathering. His three truest and greatest friends on the surface of the entire earth, Cards Mahoney, Duke Keller, and Sparky Spangler, all stood motionless, cool yet ready in a moment's notice to reach for their blades, their burning eyes all upon Rylie Lyner.  
  
Regarding Rylie Lyner, the beans of sun reflecting off his thin spectacles, if was almost laugh inducing how one minute, impossibly thin in stature boy could evoke so much-utter fear into the hearts of others. He stood, his weight settled upon one leg, arms crossed over his scrawny chest, listlessly flickering his gaze around. And then he lowered his eyes and they fell upon Skiddy.  
  
Immediately, his weight changed and a disgusting smile slithered up his thin lips. "Why Mr. Sniper finally bestows us with his presence. Come closer, will you not, Mr. Sniper? We have so much to chat about."  
  
Skiddy's eyes narrowed, as he willed his legs to carry him forward past the newsies and closer to Rylie, his fingers tightening around the closed switchblade. He stopped immediately before Rylie, and with a sick pleasure his mind burst with elation at beholding Rylie Lyner's disgusting face, a joyous reminder of the time Sarah Sprites had shattered his nose, a nose which had never properly healed, leaving it twisted and concave and his spectacles always riding it slanted.  
  
"So, what's this I'se hear, Rylie. You got some business with me?"  
  
Rylie's cold brown eyes glittered like chips of glass, as he wore that same amused expression on his face. "No, Skiddy, actually not just with you-with your three other pals also."  
  
Skiddy's gaze flickered over Lyner's shoulder to observe Cards, Duke, and Sparky. His grip on the blade in his palm grew tighter. "What about?" he inquired, though he knew the answer. Last night he, Cards, Sparky, and Duke had went over to Dom's, a low-life cheap, disgusting tavern as not to be disturbed by the Lyners for a chance. The Lyners, the majority of them congregated over at Jim's, a spot that had been the central gathering for Jimmy's boys until Rylie slit his neck. Jim's had been a pretty decent joint at that, a place where laughter always seemed to permeate the air like a glorious infection, until Lyner and his stinking bastards took it over and turned it into one of the most dangerous spots in all of Queens. They had been talking, the four of them, and throwing back a few beers. And being intoxicated and the most loyal to the memory of Jimmy, they had uttered some curses about Rylie and Horance that were bluer than the sky. Of course, as they had uttered them, they had not seen any Lyners, at least Skiddy didn't, and the only explanation for Rylie finding out had to be because of one those damn moderate newsies had run and told him.  
  
"Oh, I think you know," Rylie chided. "Some nasty little things you and your three chums said about me last night at a tavern?" He moved closer to Skiddy, his eyes cold and malicious despite the lightness in his tone. "But I know you Sniper. You wouldn't have said such rude comments. You know who's leader now, don't ya?"  
  
Skiddy winced with revulsion as Lyner pressed his face closer to his. Just looking into those hard, cold eyes caused the hate that had been blazing in his chest to suddenly turn into a roaring fireball and shoot up his throat and out his mouth. "The fuck I wouldn't!" Skiddy hissed, his eyes narrowed with hate. "I said that someone should bash in ya fuckin' brains and end all this once and for all. And no matter how many of us ya kill, you have never been the leader and will never be the leader. Jimmy Sprites will always live on whether you like it or not!"  
  
By the way Lyner's face inclined and by the stain of crimson it took on, Skiddy knew he had struck a nerve deep down under that masquerade of endless intellect. It wasn't the death threats that bothered Lyner-he had been challenged so many times that they would most likely be equivalent to every single grain of sand under the sun, but it was the mentioning of Jimmy Sprites' name to his face. He despised that name with a raging passion, everyone with half a damn brain knew that.  
  
The bewilderment at Skiddy's audacity seemed to have spread through the atmosphere like crackling electricity, for all leaned forward just an iota more, on edge to witness what would occur.  
  
Rylie only closed his eyes, as though trying to mediate his fury away as Horance stepped forward, producing his switch with a flourish, directing it towards Skiddy.  
  
"Want me to kill 'em, Ry?" he implored in his deep, idiotic voice.  
  
Rylie shook his head and placed an upturned palm in his brother's direction, signifying him to halt. Horance was muttering grumbles under his breath as he begrudgingly put his blade away, Rylie opening his burning eyes once more.  
  
He stepped closer to Skiddy, his gaze never once faltering. "I ought to gut you like a fish right now," he said in a low, calculating voice tainted with bridled rage.  
  
Skiddy only cocked an insolent brow, his eyes glazed over in hate. "Then why don't you?"  
  
Rylie stepped back, his eyes waxing. Gazing into those eyes, Skiddy suddenly felt an icy shot of fear pierce his soul. For that one pregnant moment everything to hang in too much of a perfect suspension, it was Rylie's next motion that caused him trepidation.  
  
And it all occurred so quickly, so sleekly, that Skiddy Sniper hardly even realized what was taking place. It was expeditiously, with so much fluidity, that Rylie Lyner pulled his switchblade from his back pocket and turned over his shoulder, releasing a piercing war-cry as he unsheathed the glittering blade, and bringing his arm in a wide semi-circle, that Skiddy only saw the after effect of the blade being driven into the side of Cards' neck to the hilt, and the thick, iridescent blood that spurted from the gaping would, spraying all those around.  
  
It was delayed reaction for not only Skiddy himself, but for all other newsies bearing witness as they regarded the gruesome slaying.  
  
Rylie released the hilt and stumbled back as Cards began to convulse. He choked out incomprehensible cries, red spilling from his words. He brought his hands to the wound and held it tight, the claret seeping feverishly through his closed fingers and spilling to the ground below. He fell to his knees, gagging and shaking, almost his entire being stained with crimson. And then his eyes rolled back into his head, revealing only the unnerving whites, as he finally fell to his stomach.  
  
And Cards Mahoney was dead. It was an ignoble way to die, sprawled in an ungodly position on his stomach, a thick pool of red forming under him, causing some of the Lyners to step away so it did not soil their shoes.  
  
Rylie was hunched over, his breathing heavy. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then bent over, gripping the hilt of the switch and pulling the blade out of the cadaver's neck with a sick oozing sound. He turned around to face Skiddy, his chest heaving and his cheeks blotched with red, holding the murderous bitch upwards, the hell-fire red blood glittering in the sunlight.  
  
"Oh," he said through labored breaths. "I guess I meant to kill you, Sniper. But, but it's just that all you Jimmy Sprites fuckers look all the same."  
  
The sparks that were flickering in Skiddy Sprites had nothing on the inferno that erupted inside him at that moment. His face twisting into an expression of desperate hate, he produced the switchblade he had been harboring in his palm and quickly flicked it open. He leapt at Rylie, screaming and bellowing curses. Yet, Rylie was quick and fell to his haunches, pushing his hands up so they connected with Skiddy's underside and he was able to push Skiddy over his head.  
  
Skiddy hit the ground hard, his fall being broken by Cards' cadaver. The fall had caused his hand to land at an odd position, therefore bringing the blade close to his face and cutting a gash across his left cheek. He quickly propped himself up, feeling nauseated at the fact that he was laying in his friend's congealing blood, and a large amount of his body was covered with the deep red. He lifted his hands to his face, and released a soft groan as he spread his fingers, the red causing his hands to resemble those that were webbed. He then looked over the tips of his fingers and to Cards' lifeless corpse and was brutally sick right there and then.  
  
It was while he was audibly disgorging his guts out that he heard the crowds unite in one impossibly loud war cry, and the thundering of many footsteps as both sides charged each other.  
  
He was bent over, feeling sick and tired and weak, as he was sharply pushed here and there by the warring newsies that stampeded over him, fought next to him, fell over him. He then felt himself being roughly pulled to his feet by Sparky Spangler. Sparky had one arm around his torso as the other shook his head.  
  
"Skid, Skid, you okay?"  
  
The world was blurry to Skiddy Sniper as though tears blinded his vision. He was about to murmur that he was fine when a newsie-arguably a Lyner by the sheer impact-forcibly struck his side, causing he and Sparky to stumble. The jolt also cleared his mind and it dawned upon him the magnitude of the rumble. There had not been one like it since the day Jimmy Sprites died. It was as though both sides were fighting with an utmost passion, an utmost vengeance. As though those loyal to Jimmy had finally just grown too incredibly fed up with Rylie and Horance Lyner and were fighting for their independence, for their dignity, for their souls.  
  
It was civil war.  
  
A piercing scream suddenly shattered Skiddy's thoughts as he turned his head, an intense fear of sickness and hatred surging through him. Throughout the feuding newsies, Horance had abruptly halted in his slaying of the innocent to perform for his brother a malevolent act. In his muscular, sweaty clutches, he held a struggling Sparky in a grip of death. At his feet was Duke Keller, lying lifeless, his neck having been broken with one quick twist courtesy of Horance Lyner. Rylie stood to his hulking brother's right, a malicious grin playing upon his thin lips under his shattered nose.  
  
Skiddy could only stare blankly, numbed by the sudden notion that two of his best friends had been murdered in one rumble, his gaze flickering from Duke to the trio.  
  
"I am sorry, to do this, really I am, Skiddy," Rylie said with a steely- amusement, his teeth stark against the mask of red that was his face. "All these innocent lives would not have to succumb to my boys if only you would have made the transition more easily to my way instead of clinging so desperately to James Sprites'--"  
  
"Fuck you!" Skiddy spat, stricken for any more words to retaliate with. His world was shattering for the final time around him and he could do nothing to halt it.  
  
Rylie only shook his head, a mock expression of hurt. "Such nasty curses, Horance, from such a handsome boy?"  
  
Horance only grinned stupidly, his grip on Sparky becoming tighter.  
  
Skiddy felt the sudden, unwanted tears start to well in his eyes as he regarded Sparky. "Let him go, please let him go!" he pleaded, bartering for his final true friend's life.  
  
Rylie cocked a brow and turned to Horance. "Let him go. What d'ya say, Horance, should I let him go?"  
  
Horance's idiotic expression only got broader as he shook his head. "No."  
  
"No," Rylie said, his tongue running over the words as though they were sleek ice, his head turning once more towards Skiddy. "My words exactly."  
  
And with that same cat-like quickness, Rylie had retrieved the already stained-blade, and without every even thinking twice drove it into Sparky's crown.  
  
Sparky released a wretched, horrid gasp and the Lyner brothers only laughed mirthfully as they watched the blood cascade from the wound, streaming down Sparky's head like miniature red rivers. To add further insult, Rylie gave the blade a twist, causing the skin to rip away to reveal shards of the skull. Horance then loosened his grip, allowing Sparky's cadaver to fall atop Duke's.  
  
Regarding the mutilated corpses, Skiddy felt the hot tears stream down his cheeks and the pain start to rip his insides to pieces.  
  
Rylie bent down listlessly and tugged the blade out of Sparky's head, straightening slowly and letting his eyes fall upon Skiddy. As he stepped forward, his hateful brown eyes dancing with elation, baring the blade in front of him, Skiddy stumbled back, his vision blinded by tears for real this time.  
  
"Well, well, well, Sniper," Rylie commented, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "It seems as all those who were closest and most loyal to James Sprites are dead. All except-you."  
  
Skiddy was sobbing now. "You can kill me, you can kill all of us, but we'se still gonna survive! Jimmy Sprites will always survive, whether ya like it or not!"  
  
Rylie cocked his head. "Not if your all dead."  
  
"Sarah! There's always Sarah! She'll be back! She'll avenge all who have fallen and she'll kill you! She'll kill you!" Skiddy's words were uncalculated and rambling. As he was stumbling backwards, he came across Cards' corpse and fell backwards.  
  
Rylie Lyner approached him, loomed over him, his eyes cold, dark-evil. "Good-bye, Skiddy," he simply said, before drawing back his hand and hurling the knife so that it landed in its resting place in Skiddy's heart.  
  
The pain was absolutely fantastic, excruciating. Skiddy involuntarily gripped the hilt, blood coating his hands, as he began to gasp. It was ending, it was all ending. His life was flashing before him, a notion that he had only thought a fancy before. He'd be in a better place with all his friends once more: Jimmy, Duke, Cards, and Sparky. His blue eyes rested upon Rylie Lyner's brown ones, and he couldn't help but detect the slightest trace of fear within them.  
  
And the breath was stolen one last time from his lungs and the world became dark. His grip loosened around the hilt and he fell backwards, his back landing upon Cards.  
  
Rylie regarded him for a few more minutes before he spat at his feet and whispered under his breath, "Goddamn you all to hell." He then turned, and panned the incredulous scene around him, of blood and death and hate and blades reflecting the early morning sun.  
  
"STOP THIS!" he screamed. "STOP! THE BULLS WILL BE HERE! LEAVE THE DEAD AND RUN!"  
  
His boys, they finished their blows and then turned and were out of the distribution center as though the Devil were on their heels. Jimmy's newsies, they were left battered and bruised and full of mortal fear. When the Lyners had fled only then could they survey the full damage and their fallen, and he surveyed with a proud smile. Those sons of bitches that had always kept the Jimmy Sprites loyalty alive were slain, lying ungracefully in their own blood.  
  
Sure, Lyner himself had lost some of his boys, but it still could not hinder the sick satisfaction he felt. Alas, as his eyes fell to the corpse of Skiddy Sniper, his smile faltered and fell. Sniper's words haunted him. Yet, before he could ponder them any longer, Horance joined his side, jolting him out of his thoughts by touching his elbow.  
  
"Ry, we'se gotta scat, da bulls'll be comin' soon."  
  
Rylie absentmindedly shook his head. "Right, Hor, let's go."  
  
After they had run a few blocks, the high of the fight still surging through them, they slowed and walked side-by-side at a slower pace. Horance was panting desperately, as he always did after too much strenuous activity and sweating like the sky rains.  
  
"Ry," Horance panted, wiping a muscular forearm across his brow. "You know its not gonna end. I mean, there might not be no more uprisins in Queens for a while, but ya know that their gonna git there allies. Manhattan."  
  
Rylie snorted darkly and shook his head. "Manhattan? Ooh, look at me Horance I'm pissing my pants here. All they have is Jack Kelly and a bunch of broken spirits. Besides, if they try to pull anything else they will wish they never would-I'll get Nero and all his boys to teach them a lesson."  
  
Horance released a low whistle. "Nero Night and his Midtown boys, aye?"  
  
Rylie nodded his eyes cold. "Yeah, Nero Night and nonetheless. Nonetheless." 


End file.
